


Diamond in the Rough

by LilyAmelia



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1945038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyAmelia/pseuds/LilyAmelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was always there, just waiting to be uncovered. Time was all it took for Emma Swan to shine.<br/>Short glimpses of Emma’s life, from birth to Neverland, and how she became the woman she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Find us

**Author's Note:**

> This sprung up on me as I was thinking of swan ice sculptures (yeah, I’m not sure how my brain functions either). Not really sure where this is going, but hey, it’s about the journey, isn’t it? ;)

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing. Really, I don’t. Not even the time it’s going to take for me to write this.

* * *

1.

 "Find us."

Charming caressed his daughter’s loose blond curls, his shaking fingers skimming the spot he had kissed seconds ago. Seconds. That was all he had before Regina’s black knights found him again. His throbbing shoulder protested at the thought of picking up a sword, and he forced himself to steady his heartbeat with deep breaths, as his lungs screamed in pain.

Seconds. That was all he had with his daughter, before she was whisked off to a foreign land. Alone. His gut clenched. _She’ll find us. She will._

He could not take his eyes off her. Their miracle. Their Emma. She would rescue the land, they said. She would be their saviour. _But I don’t want a saviour - I want my daughter._

Squeezing his eyes shut as they started to burn, he pressed his lips against Emma’s forehead for a second - and last- time. _I’m so sorry._

In seconds, he would have to tear himself away from her, shut those wooden doors and fight for his daughter - for her safety, for her freedom, for her life. And he’d gladly give up his, if that was what it took. He would protect her, come hell, high water, or Regina’s wretched minions who really had _no idea_ who they were up against.

 _Make these seconds count, Charming._  "We won’t get to see you grow up, Emma." His voice was low, his breath came out in short puffs, but he kept going on. He needed to say it, because she needed to hear it, if only once. Even if she could not understand a word. "We’ll miss your first steps, your first real laugh, your first words. There were so many wonderful things we wanted to-" 

The knot that had formed in his chest tightened unbearably, and he had to pause. Just a second. "You’ll be a formidable woman, Emma. Now, I don’t know when, or how- but one day, you’ll take all the realms by storm, and you’ll find a way back to us. And we’ll be so, _so_ proud. We already are." 

A loud crash followed by raucous shouts caught his attention, and his heart rate quickened. He cast his daughter one last look, committing her tiny, precious form to memory. _I love you, Emma._ _Be safe._  

With a soft click, he locked the wardrobe doors. He pulled himself up, hissing as a bolt of pain shot through his shoulder. The voices were getting closer. _I’m not going to last very long, am I?_ He grimaced at the thought, but tightened his grip on his sword. 

As the first knight burst into the room, Charming spun around, weapon raised. No, he would not last long, but it would be enough.


	2. Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust

 

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own anything.

* * *

 

2.

"Give me your backpack, Em. It's  _way_  too big for someone of your size to carry around." Taking the pink bag from the blond child to her right, Rose Cooper pretended to struggle as she hoisted it over her shoulder. " _Oof_ , really heavy too! What on Earth are they making you guys carry to  _preschool_?"

Her - granted, pathetic- attempts at humor were in vain as Emma barely cracked a smile. The three-year-old had so far been quiet during the twenty-minute walk from her pre-school to her home. She was hardly a motor mouth, but Rose had always prided herself on getting along spectacularly well with her charge, and little Emma Swan had slowly opened up to her baby-sitter. Lately, she had even taken to recounting the events of her day with enthusiasm. They both delighted in each other's company.  _Well, until now, apparently._

Before long, they stood on the Swan's porch, where Emma lived with her adoptive parents. Rose plucked the key that was hidden inside a nook between the wooden floor boards, and unlocked the front door. "In you go, your Highness," she gave Emma a friendly nudge, and shut the door behind her.

Setting down the Cinderella back-pack on the floor, the fifteen-year-old brunette headed towards the kitchen, not before grimacing at the sight of her reflection in the mirror.  _God, let this awkward phase be over soon_. "Emma? My sweet tooth is dying for some hot chocolatey goodness, what do you say?" No reply.  _Huh_. Wandering around the house, she finally found the tiny blonde in the living room, huddled on the couch, a lost look in her eyes.

She paused for a moment, not taking her gaze off the child. She was a pretty little thing, to be honest- all big green eyes and glorious blond hair. A real miniature princess.  _She's going to be a heartbreaker, that one. Watch out, men of the world._

Rose inched closer, taking a seat beside Emma. Sensing the older girl's presence, Emma finally turned to face her - and Rose was struck by the raw, desperate loneliness in the young girl's green orbs. No kid should ever look like that. She was  _three_ , for crying out loud!

"Hey." Rose's voice came out rougher than she expected, as it struggled against the lump that had suddenly formed. She cleared her throat, and attempted a lighter tone. "Why so glum, chum?"

Emma snatched up a pillow and pulled it tightly against her chest.

Rose had to watch her words. Saying the wrong thing, at the wrong time, meant it was game over. Push her too hard, and Emma would withdraw into herself; three months worth of progress in getting her to open up would disappear. So Rose stayed quiet, opting to stroke the little blonde's hair in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. Just as she was mentally berating herself for being utterly useless, Emma broke the silence.

"Mommy's having a baby."

Whoa. Well, that was unexpected.  _And Mrs. Swan didn't say a word! Emma must be so excit-_

A glance at Emma's hunched form instantly chased that thought from her head. Someone was not taking the news well.

"You'll be a big sister now." Rose ventured, gauging the child's reaction. "How do you feel about that?"  _They should really think about giving a crash course in child psychology before handing out those baby-sitting diplomas. I am_ so _not ready for this._

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not going to be a big sister." As soon as the words left her lips, her chin began to tremble. "I heard Mommy on the phone."

No. They would  _not_ -

A fat tear rolled down Emma's pale cheeks. "They're giving me," she let out a thick, wet cough, "back." A few other tears joined the first, and she rubbed her eyes furiously with her bite-sized hands. "I don't want to go back, Rose."

Rose had heard enough. She had no idea if Emma was right, or if she had misinterpreted her mother's phone conversation, but what did it matter? She believed she was going to be abandoned, and it was enough to mess with any child's mind. She scooped Emma onto her lap and pulled the girl against her chest. Thin arms wrapped themselves around her neck in a vice-like grip. Within seconds, her brand-new Bruce Springsteen T-shirt was damp with tears - amongst other things - but she could not care less.

"Oh, Emma," she whispered against blond tresses. "Everything will sort itself out. You'll see." She pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "I know it's hard, right now. You're scared, but-"

She had no words.

"Don't leave me, Rose?" The short sentence was punctuated with sobs, and every cry felt like a punch to the nose.  _Why_.

"Hey, Em. Look at me." Reddened, tearful eyes blinked back at her.  _Okay, maybe don't. It'll just make this harder. "_ I want you to remember that I care about you, okay? Whatever happens, I'll be thinking of you. That's what friends are for." She forced a smile on her face, and tapped the end of Emma's nose. The blonde snuffled, and scrunched her face in reply.

Rose's heart broke for the lonely, lost child before her.

"Now, tiny one." she said softly, lifting Emma from her lap and setting her down on the couch beside her. "How about I make us both some hot chocolate? Cinnamon for her Highness? We'll watch a movie together until your parents get home, okay? Pick one, and I'll be right back."

Rose returned to the living room minutes later, two tall mugs of hot chocolate in hand - one cinnamon-topped and the other chocolate- and handed Emma her drink.

"What did you pick?" She enquired, turning her attention to the screen as she took her seat.

Emma huddled closer, resting her head against Rose's arm. "Peter Pan," she muttered. "It's my favorite. Is that okay?"

Rose glanced quickly at the blonde. Lost boys. Pirates. A boy who refused to grow up and three children looking for home.  _Think of the happiest things. It's the same as having wings._

Yeah," she replied, eyes flickering back to the television. "That's okay."

 


	3. Her Heart Was a Secret Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a very happy story, is it... I'll try to find the light at some point, I promise! ;) And I hope it isn't too OOC for Emma to burst out as she does in this chapter. Same thing goes for the counselor, I don't think I've got her role down quite right, but for the story purposes, I had to have her react this way.

**Disclaimer:**  Still nothing.

* * *

 

3.

Kim Travers' gaze swept over the waiting room, before landing on the bespectacled blond teen currently tapping her fingers against her knee in nervousness.

"Emma Swan?"

Sharp green eyes snapped up to meet her own hazel ones, and the fifteen-year-old girl frowned in confusion. She glanced towards the principal's office, and back to Kim, before a look of comprehension crossed her face. Kim could only watch with dread as Emma picked up her bag, jaw clenched, and headed towards her office with heavy steps, completely avoiding any eye contact. With a sigh, Kim shut the door behind her and took a seat behind her desk.

"Really? The counselor?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "When Mr. Crawford asked me to head to Franklin Hall I was expecting a meeting with Principal Woods."

Kim had read Emma's file before calling her in. Satisfactory grades, rarely got into trouble, decent attendance, got along fairly well with her classmates and teachers. All in all, a pretty normal kid.

She then spotted the glitch. Seven different schools in the past ten years. Lived with six different families.

She had never dealt with foster children before. This was foreign territory, and she found it rather daunting.

"You're not here to get a telling off, Emma." She tucked her short locks behind her ear.  _Stay cool, Kim. Don't let her know you're completely out of your element._  "Mr. Crawford was just worried about you. You've fallen asleep in his class four times now. He told me you were a capable student, and he thought it might help you to have someone to talk to."

"He really said that?" Emma blinked in surprise, then seemed to catch herself. "Why would he think I'd want to talk to a total stranger?"

"Because I'd like to think I'm slightly more approachable than Principal Woods," Kim replied with a quick smile. "It's sometimes easier to talk about things to 'a total stranger', as you say. Is there something bothering you, Emma?"

Emma shook her head, but not before Kim noted the slight twitch, the split-second hesitation. Had anyone offered to listen before? "Why are you falling asleep in class?"

"It's nothing," she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. "I've just had some trouble sleeping lately, that's all."

Kim studied the young teen before her, who was fiddling with her shoulder bag currently sitting on her lap. She scooted closer to her desk. "Is everything alright at home, Emma?"

The moment Emma's green eyes flared up behind her thick glasses and blond bangs, Kim knew she had made a mistake.

"You've read my file, haven't you? And now you think you know everything about me, is that it?" Her grip tightened on her bag, and everything about her posture screamed ' _run_ '. An angry red flush spread across her cheeks.

_Shit. Shitshitshit. Great job, Travers._ Kim swallowed hard, and raised her hands in what she prayed was a pacifying manner. "I'm not assuming anything, Emma. I just thought I'd offer you a chance to talk. You don't have to, if you don't want to. But I can see you have some anger, and I want you to know you don't have to be alone."

Wrong thing to say, apparently. "You want me to talk? Fine," Emma scoffed, but her voice trembled. "I  _am_  alone, Miss Travers. Have always been. You probably saw, looking through my file, that I've been with six foster families since I entered the system. I was  _a day old_ when I was found by the highway."

"I'm called Emma, because that was the name knitted on the blanket I was wrapped in when they found me. It's the only thing I have left of my parents. Or at least, that's what I tell myself. It's better than thinking the blanket was the only clean bit of fabric they managed to find on such short notice, isn't it? Because, honestly - who the  _hell_  knits a blanket for their child only to leave her by the highway hours later?"

Kim had to fight to keep her emotions in check. She had heard versions of this tale many times with teenagers: feeling alone, misunderstood, unwanted. Most of those feelings came from a real place, of course. What kids expected from their close ones was often different from what they received, creating conflict and tension. The anger, the resentment, the sadness in this case, however - rarely had she been faced with so much intensity.

"Things didn't exactly get better, though. You want me to talk about my foster families? Let's  _talk_. The Swans were the first family I had. They adopted me when I was two months old, and I was beginning to think I might actually belong somewhere after all.  _Wrong_. They gave me back when I was three because they had a child of their own." A bitter laugh bubbled from her lips. "I kept it - the name - because I had nothing else, and it was a way to remind myself that you don't need a family to  _be_  someone, and that your name doesn't define you."

"You probably know the rest. It's in my file. Foster home after foster home. Changing schools and friends. I'm having trouble staying awake lately because my foster brother's a jerk who has no notion of acceptable sound levels after two a.m.." She gave an exhausted half-shrug and the corner of her lips lifted. "I'm dealing with it."

At the end of that sentence, Emma suddenly seemed to deflate, and she rubbed her reddened nose. She turned to Kim with a grave expression, eyes slightly shinier than they were moments ago. That snapped Kim out of her trance. "Emma-"

"So yeah, Mrs. Travers. I  _am_  angry, and tired, but I  _can_  take care of myself. Alone, like I always have." She stood up wearily, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She quickly brushed her fingers over her eyes and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "But you were right. I needed to talk. So, thanks - I guess." She headed towards the door. "I'd better get back to class."

Kim scrambled to her feet. "Emma! If you ever need-" The door clicked shut. "-anything, feel free to stop by." Her sentence floated around the empty room.

With a soft groan, Kim slumped back in her seat. She crossed her arms above her desk and laid her forehead against them.  _That went fantastically well, Travers. Applause all around._

In a few months, Emma would age out of the system, and as she so aptly illustrated in her small speech, she would end up alone. Kim did not need to spend hours with her to see she was an independent, resourceful young girl. More reed than oak tree - capable of adapting to whatever stumbling block life placed in her path, and coming out of each trial shaken but stronger. Yet there were limits, there always were. How long until she snapped? Or worse, until she finished building that protective wall around her, the one that saved her from getting hurt by others, but made sure she stayed alone?

Kim paused in front of her door before calling in her next student.

_What would become of Emma Swan?_

 


	4. Face Your Life, Its Pain, Its Pleasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My take on Emma discovering she's pregnant. Slight change of style for this chapter, but I think it fits the tone, as this one is all about Emma. She's truly alone, and in a way, this is her rock bottom. Not my best work, but this was hard!

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing. Really, I don't. Not even the time it's going to take for me to finish this fic.

* * *

 

4.

She stares at the little plus sign, and the first thought that crosses her mind is  _I wonder if orange jump suits come in baby size_.

Which is ridiculous, and flippant, and oh god, she isn't ready for this, not now, not here, not  _alone_. A bubble of hysteria swells in her chest. Whether it's laughter or tears, she doesn't have a clue.

Only she's pretty sure it isn't laughter, because no way in hell is this  _funny._ It's an epic Greek tragedy, and she's the doomed protagonist.

She focuses on the stick, unblinking, until her vision becomes blurry and her eyes burn, but it's nothing compared to the endless emptiness she feels in her chest. The hole was always there, she supposes. It's a hole her parents dug when they left her by the road, and ever since, nothing Emma does seems to fill it.

_You came close. Closer than you ever thought you would._  Yes. She was almost certain Neal was  _it_. Family. Home. Her Tallahassee. She was wrong. So wrong.

_"He called in a tip, told us to take a look at the surveillance tape in the train station."_

The man she would have followed to the edge of the world and back betrayed her. He dropped a dynamite stick in the fissure that was starting to heal, and blew the whole thing wide open again. The edges are charred, black and burnt. She doesn't think it will ever close itself. Not after that.

_"Sorry to tell you, but your boy took off."_

When Neal disappeared, when he left her stranded there, with that  _stupid_  watch dangling from her wrist as the cop pointed a gun at her - you'd think she'd get used to feeling abandoned. Ha _._  No, she damn well wasn't.

_"Unless he set you up."_

She remembers the pity in the officer's eyes, as he realizes she was nothing but a fool, stabbed in the back by her boyfriend, strung along like a naive little girl.

" _You know your rights?_   _Good girl_."

Good, gullible, exploitable girl. That's what she is, though. No. She sniffs, and straightens on the hard bench of her cell. That's what she  _was._

And almost instantly, she deflates, and feels the tears pricking under her eyelids. She's done with being used, sure. And she's going to learn from her mistakes. But what good would that do  _now_?

_Look at me. Emma Swan. Orphan. Lost girl. One hell of a mother you'll be._

Because the terrifying little piece of plastic is still there, between her fingers, and she has no damn clue on how to deal with this. She's self-aware, a lot more self-aware than most of the girls her age, but right now, she wishes she wasn't.

Because she knows she's a barely legal high school dropout, with a criminal record and without any qualifications or contacts, and whose skills are limited to pick-pocketing and some strangely accurate form of lie-detection, which won't get her a job anywhere. She has no family, no friends, no home.

Because she can barely look after herself, so how the hell could she possibly raise a child?

Her focus breaks when she hears the metal bars clang. The guard they have all taken to calling Mighty Molly strides up to her, a letter in hand. She starts talking, but Emma isn't listening. She can't concentrate, not now. The words melt into a monotonous buzzing that her brain barely catches, she sees Molly's mouth move but the sounds that escape all come across as identical, and lip-reading isn't one of her skills, remember?

It isn't until Molly brandishes the car keys, and she spots the silver swan swing from the keychain, that Emma snaps back to the present.

He left her the car. He left her the  _shit piece of scrap metal he stole and barely even runs anymore, anyway_.

The word 'Phuket' suddenly registers and she realizes he must have fenced the watches, and he's gone now, far away, somewhere safe ( _Tallahassee it was supposed to be their Tallahassee_ ). A spark goes off, deep inside her, and all of a sudden she hates him.

Neal was a thief. She knew it then, she knows it now. He didn't steal her heart (you can't steal a heart, it's yours and only yours to give, she believes - and she  _did_  give it, so willingly), but he took everything else. He robbed her of her trust, her freedom, her happy-goddamn-ending. And she  _hates_  him for it, because she has nothing left. Nothing but a stolen yellow bug, an unborn child and a frighteningly uncertain future.

She has nothing left to give.

Molly's wry «congratulations» as she leaves the cell acts like another punch to Emma's gut, and her mind scrambles to piece back the guard's parting sentence. She quickly matches up dates in her head, only to feel the blood slowly drain from her and beads of sweat break out on her forehead as she reaches the cold, hard conclusion of giving birth ( _oh god_   _not ready not ready_ ) sometime during her sentence. She was going to bring a baby into this world, into her already messed-up life, and she wouldn't even be there for him - her? - at the very beginning.

_What the hell are you going to do, Emma?_

She knows what will happen when she gets out. She gets the keys, the car, and starts over in some big, anonymous city. She'll fight through life, as she has always done. Work hard, put your head down, move on.

But the baby... The baby doesn't  _have_  to live the same life she did, doesn't have to grow up sharing her hardships and struggles - all because the mother was an idiot who gave her heart to the wrong man and paid for it.

The baby could have a chance to be  _happy._ In fact, she'll make sure of it.

She realizes she was wrong. She still has one thing left to give.

_I'll give you your best chance._

 


	5. Begin Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind reviews and favorites! Thanks to guest Rhea too, I couldn't personally reply, but it means a lot to me that you liked the previous chapters! Emma might seem a little too warm and fuzzy in this one, not quite sure. Oh, well. I'll blame that on James!  
> And thank you to tersaseda for reading part of this one and correcting it. You're a gem.

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing. Really, I don't. Not even the time it's going to take for me to write this.

* * *

 

5.

James Granger pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. He was tired and cranky, and Rita  _bloody_  Montgomery had managed, once again, to slip between his weary, creaky fingers. He ignored the little voice in his head reminding him of his fifty-seventh birthday two weeks ago. He  _felt_  old. That should count for something.

He scowled at the photograph of the dark-haired beauty hidden behind large sunglasses, struggling to remember why the  _hell_  he chose to become a bail bondsman anyway. An image of his father's disapproving frown flashed in his mind, and he allowed himself a small smile. Right,  _that_  was why.

Was still a stupid reason, though.

"More coffee, sir?"

He glanced up at the young woman standing beside his table, holding up a coffee pot. With her blonde hair barely held together in a messy ponytail and large green eyes, she could not have been much older than eighteen, twenty at most.

"Thanks, but I'm fine for now". He gestured towards his empty mug. "Trying to kick the habit. You wouldn't have some tea lying about, would you?"

Her lips quirked into the beginnings of a smile. "We use the term 'tea' here pretty lightly. I'd pass, if I were you."

He could not hold back a grin. "Thanks for the tip."

"Anything to eat?" Her eyes flickered to the pictures spread out on the table.

"Maybe later. Thank you."

But she remained rooted to the spot, her eyes not leaving the photographs. "She's pretty," she said finally. "Your wife?"

James snorted.  _No_. Definitely not.

"Girlfriend?" He shook his head. "Daughter?"

The good humour slipped right off his face. Daughter,  _really_? Did he look that old?

As if she were reading his mind (or maybe he  _did_  look that old), she gave a small shrug. "Some people have kids at a young age. Not gonna judge." Her words were light, her voice even, and had he not honed his body language reading skills to perfection, he might have missed the practically imperceptible crack in her mask.

Not a day over twenty, but the young woman had obviously experienced more than someone her age should ever have to. It was all in the eyes.

"I'll have a slice of carrot cake, actually," he found himself saying.

She tore her gaze away from the picture, and with a brief nod, returned towards the counter. James resumed his search for Rita's latest hiding spot. Bloody woman was too cunning for her own good.

Concentrated as he was on the task, it took him a fraction longer than usual to notice the faint prickle that informed him he was being watched.  _You're slipping, Granger you old man_. He lifted his eyes only to find himself under the waitress' scrutiny. There was absolutely nothing coy or flirtatious about it. Definitely not.

No, she seemed to be studying him, analyzing him like a puzzle she was trying to solve (ha, if only he were that complicated), or like a wary animal on the lookout for a trap.

Curious.

He decided to let it go. He had more pressing matters to attend.

Five minutes later, a plate slid beneath his nose and the blonde girl took a seat across the table, a mug in hand. James stared at her in confusion.

"Thanks. But what are you doing?"

"Helping. If you frown any longer, your eyebrows might become permanently attached together."

"Don't you have a job to do?"

"I'm allowed breaks, last time I checked. Besides, it's a Thursday night. The only people who come in here are teens sneaking out and shady old men. The former don't leave tips. I might as well assist the latter."

He huffed. "Are you calling me a shady old man? 'Cause  _that's_  not going to get you any tips, young lady."

"I wouldn't dare," she smirked, and he was struck by how much that changed her. She  _glowed_. "I know shady. You're not it." And just like that, the light went out.

There was a story in there somewhere. He just might get it out.

"So...who's this girl?" If she didn't wear him out first.

James sighed. "You won't let this drop, will you?"

She merely smiled, taking a sip from her mug.

Her smile never reached her eyes, he noted absently. Something told him it was not from lack of sincerity. Lack of practice, maybe.

"I guess you could say that she's my...job." Seeing the young woman's curious expression, he continued. "I'm a bail bondsman. This woman here", he pointed a finger at Rita, "was arrested for quite a large-scale theft. She skipped bail - failed to appear in court. It's my job to find her and bring her in."

She frowned. "You mean she just disappeared?"

"Well, yes and no. When people skip bail, they often leave a trail. Unless they're brilliant at it, which," he admitted grudgingly, "she is. Unfortunately for her, I too am rather good at what I do. I missed her by a hair's breadth this time, but I'm getting close."

She stared at him with those serious, cautious green eyes. "So basically, you find people who don't want to be found. Make sure they face their responsibilities."

"It's a little more complicated than that. But you get the gist of it, I reckon."

She was silent for a moment, and James took the opportunity to shove a forkful of carrot cake into his mouth.

"Could you train me?"

James's head snapped up. She -  _Emma_ , according to her name tag (it suited her) - was fidgeting in her seat, but there was a determined glint in her eye.

"You want to- what?" It occurred to him how strange this conversation was between two people who had not even introduced themselves to each other.

"I don't have a diploma. I never even graduated from high school, but I'm a quick learner." The words tumbled out of her, as she leaned forward, earnestness etched across her face. "I could take classes. You could train me."

"I'm not looking for anyone to train." Well, actually he  _could._  He would be retiring in a few years, and it would be nice to know that someone out there was at  _least_  adequate, but that was  _besides the point._ He came in here for coffee and mental relaxation, not to start a bloody recruiting mission.

"Please. I-" She licked her lips and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. "Give me a chance. I'll work hard."

"What's in it for you, Emma? Really?"

His question seemed to have caught her off-guard. "What do you mean?" In a second, the careful mask was back in place.

"I mean," James said slowly, "You have a job here. Not the best, sure, but certainly not the worst. You had absolutely no idea what a bail bondsman was ten minutes ago, and now you're ready to leave everything behind and start anew. Don't you have family? Friends? What are you looking for, Emma?"

She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the scattered crowd in the diner. "What you do- finding people, making sure they appear in court - that's...important. People  _should_  face their actions, and realize that what they do has a consequence.  _Everything_  has a consequence."

Somehow, James suspected they were not talking about bail bonds anymore.

"I want to be a part of that." She turned back those startling green eyes on him. "Please."

James scratched the edge of his nose. "Fine, but what about-"

She shook her head, her ponytail swinging slightly. "There's nothing here for me."

"Emma!" A heavyset man appeared behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Table four needs you."

James watched as the blonde nodded, shooting him a last significant look before rising from her seat. She went about her work, taking orders and cleaning tables, not once glancing in his direction. He finished his cake, fixated on the unfinished mug of cinnamon-topped hot chocolate in front of him.

_You always enjoyed a good gamble. No point in denying it._  Sure, Emma was a little rough around the edges. But he had an eye for potential, and this one was just bursting with it. He could  _feel_  it.

And his gut had never failed him yet.  _Just...don't start now, yeah?_

He pushed away his now empty plate and sighed.  _Granger, just what the hell are you getting yourself into?_

When she arrived ten minutes later to clean up his table, he quickly slipped a piece of paper under her nose. Upon reading the figure he had scribbled on it, her eyebrows rose dangerously high.

"Monday morning, eight a.m. That's your starting salary."

"What?" Her eyes were round with surprise. He surreptitiously made sure he had not added an extra zero or two on the paper. Dear lord, what exactly were they paying her? The light he had barely glimpsed earlier glimmered in the depths of her green eyes. "Y-yes. Yeah, I'm in."

"Good." He smiled. "One final question though."

She shot him a wary look.  _Jerk move, probably, but she needs this._

"Why should I train you?"

"I..." Her hesitance confirmed his thought.

"Hey. If you don't believe in yourself, Emma- don't expect anyone else to. Now, what are your qualities? Lie, if you have to," he leaned back, smiling to let her know he was just testing her, "but at least  _pretend_ you're the best bloody bet I have, and no one else compares."

He almost clapped when he got a brief chuckle out of her. "I'm hardworking, resourceful, and I like to think my street smarts are pretty solid." She let out a huff of breath and raised an eyebrow. "How was that?"

"Not bad," he smirked. "But for someone who prides herself on her common sense, you risked an awful lot by asking for a job from a complete stranger." He grinned as she turned a rather charming shade of pink. "James Granger, bail bondsman."

He held out his hand and she shook it, muttering "Emma Swan."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan. Monday morning, then." He placed a bill on the table and collected his belongings. "I'll leave you to tell your boss you're quitting your job, now."

"Coward."

James snorted. "Ah, yes, but I'm also a generous tipper."

As he approached the door, something niggled at the back of his mind, causing him to pause and turn around. "Emma?"

She looked at him questioningly, arms full of plates and mugs.

_Those people you're looking for? You'll find them one day. Don't give up._

Something stopped him from saying those words out loud. He could not. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was not.

"Don't be late," he said instead, and shut the door behind him.

 

 


	6. Take Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This tiny chapter was hell to write, and I just hope it isn't hell to read.
> 
> We're jumping back into canon now. Pilot episode, takes place after Henry tells Emma about the book. And please, the views expressed by Henry regarding Regina do not reflect mine.

**Diamond in the rough**

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing. Really, I don't. Not even the time it's going to take for me to write this.

* * *

6.

She was pricklier than he'd hoped. He'd expected it from his research, of course. His biological mom had apparently spent a large portion of her life alone, moving from city to city without forming any attachments. She'd given him up at eighteen and never contacted him. No word on who his father was. It made sense that she would have an armor around her. He hadn't banked on a warm welcome hug. Really, he hadn't.

Still, it didn't stop the little bubble of hurt in his chest from swelling when she had threatened to call the police. Or even when she kept calling him "kid".

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was really beautiful, his mom. A real-life princess (and the thought made him smile), sort of like the princess in that movie they watched at school- with the long blonde hair and the red dress. Regina was beautiful as well, but... Different. Colder? Henry struggled to come up with an appropriate description of his adoptive mother. She claimed she loved him, and maybe he believed her. Partly.

But it wasn't enough- something was missing.

Her love felt hollow.

She was the Evil Queen, after all. And once the curse was broken, once she remembered who she really was, she would stop loving him. If she ever started in the first place.

Henry was counting on Emma to break the curse. She was the  _savior_. Now, he just had to convince her of it.

_Ha_. He better get those brain cells revving, then.

He could make Miss Blanchard and Emma stand next to each other in front of a mirror. Maybe they'd notice a family resemblance? Maybe just being in Storybrooke would trigger a memory? (Stupid, Henry. She wasn't  _born_  there _._ ) If he got her to read the book, she might realize what he was talking about. To get her to do just that, though...

This was going to be harder than he thought.

"You alright there, kid?"

Her voice jolted him out of his musings. She was shooting him rapid glances, obviously preoccupied but making sure to keep her eyes on the road at the same time.

And yet... Her reaction to the news that the fairytales in his book might be true, that she was actually part of them...

Archie, Mary Margaret, his mom - every adult he'd mentioned his theory to (the list was short. He'd quickly figured it wasn't the best course of action) had asked him the same question:  _who am I?_  Every single one. But Emma didn't, though. She deflected ( _'oh kid, you've good problems.'_  Well,  _yeah_.) and shut down after he declared his need for her help.

She had been scared to push. Did it mean that somewhere deep down, she suspected there was a grain of truth?

He wanted to believe that. He had to.

' _Just because you believe something, doesn't make it true.'_

"That's exactly what it means," he whispered, his breath fogging the glass.

"Did you say something?"

Henry shook his head, turning away from the window. "Nope," he replied, fiddling with the lowest button of his coat. "Hey, so when I was doing my research, I read that you were a b-bail..."

"Bail bondsman? Yeah, I am."

"What do you do, exactly?"

"Wow," Henry heard the humor in her voice, even if it wasn't obvious on her face, "you don't hold back on the difficult questions, do you? So, bail bondsman. How do I explain this? When someone commits a crime, a felony, or whatever, they have to appear in court. Quite often, however, the accused - the guilty person - thinks that skipping town is the better option. That's where I come in. It's my job to find those people, and make sure they face their responsibilities."

"Do you always find them? Every single one?"

Emma said nothing for a while. "Most of the time," she finally answered, her voice a little rougher than before.

Henry realized he had entered into uncharted territory. Emma was - whether she wanted to or not - telling him something. Now, if only he knew  _what_.

Moving on seemed like the smartest option, though. "That's pretty neat. My mom, bail bondswoman." He grinned to himself. "You must be pretty good."

Emma scoffed. "Damn right, I am. Had a great teacher, too."

"Who was it?"

"He was called James Granger. Great guy. Left the country a few years ago, though." She blinked a few times. «You'd think I'd have gotten used to it by then," she muttered under her breath.

"Why did he leave?"

She bit her lip and griped the wheel tighter. If she thought he wouldn't notice those little things, she was mistaken. "Family. They needed him back in England."

It suddenly struck him again - just how  _alone_  his mother had been throughout her life.

_She won't be anymore. Her family's waiting for her. She's coming home now._

"Hey, kid- Henry," Emma caught herself, shooting him a quick look that he pretended not to notice. It made him smile inside, though.  _Thanks, mom._  "How did you find me?"

"Hm?"

"I mean, the adoption papers," she said slowly, "were done in such a way that neither you or your parents would be able to find me, or get in touch with me." Closed adoption. That was what it said in the files. "So how did you do it?"

_With the help of good old internet and Grandma Snow White's credit card._

Somehow, Henry doubted she'd find that answer, no matter how truthful it was, as amusing as he did.

"I guess I'm pretty good at finding people too." He glanced at her, wanting to see her reaction. "Just like you."

She didn't say anything for a moment, keeping her gaze focused on the road ahead. Finally, she broke the silence. "There's a gas station coming up in a few miles. We should stop for a break, use the toilet."

Her lips lifted briefly to form a smile. It was tiny, but Henry's heart swelled. He'd take that tiny smile any time.

"And maybe we'll get a couple of snacks. What do you say, kid?"

Henry grinned. Kid. Yeah, he could get used to that.

"Sounds good."


End file.
